The Phantom's Resurrection
by LadyBarbossa
Summary: In the wake of the terrible tragedy and mystery at the opera house, a mysterious figure resurfaces. Later, rumors circulate about a beautiful Heiress and her shadow. A 'what if' sequel to Leroux's masterpiece that takes a deeper in-depth look at the Opera Ghost and the time period he existed in.


Chapter 1: A Fresh Face

"TRAGEDY!"read the front page headline on all newspapers in and around Paris printed in the biggest, boldest letters possible to capture the attention of the Parisian public. A tragedy befell one of the oldest noble families of France when the great Count Philippe de Chagny was found dead at the opera and the younger brother nowhere to be found also assumed dead despite the rampant rumor of the young Viscount's affair with a young Soprano at the opera. A couple days ago, Bourgeoisie gossip and the newspapers hinted of a planned elopement of the young nobleman to the young opera singer. Now it was up to the two de Chagny sisters to handle this tragedy and scandal amid their mourning.

A polished black brougham, pulled by two magnificent Friesian stallions, rolled through the busy streets of Paris. The rhythmic hooves resound through Paris heralding the American Heiress who sat properly within the posh blue interior of the carriage reading the latest on this shocking tragedy. Her hazel eyes lifted from the paper and stared blankly out the window of the carriage but paid no attention to the activity passing by as she folded up the paper and threw it down with a distraught sigh. Her hazel eyes continued to stare out the carriage consumed by her numerous thoughts.

"Damnation!" she exclaimed shifting upon the blue seat as a gloved fist hammered down upon the space beside her. After that outburst, the woman resolved to correct herself as the brougham rolled up the curved ramp to the Emperor's Entrance. She was baffled when the carriage stopped before it reached the elegant overhang guarded by a grand stone eagle. When a doorman opened the carriage door, she took the offered hand and stepped down about to ask why she was getting out here but remained silent when she noticed another carriage. Her attention remained upon the other carriage until she entered the grand opera house by assistance of the doorman, yet she did not ask to whom the carriage belonged. After a brief glance about, the woman gracefully and slowly made her way towards the concierge quite fascinated with the elaborate details of the opera house interior. Her hands touched the polished marble and her fingers traced over every sculpted molding as if she were exploring a Lover.

"May I help you, Mademoiselle?" approached the concierge after they had assisted a patron. He was a youthful looking fellow and a confident stride.

She turned to face the concierge with a smile, "Yes," and regally collected herself. "I wish to speak with the Managers, please. If I may. Plus, I would like to see what boxes you have available for upcoming performances."

The somber hint in the concierge's eyes could hardly be hidden by the pleasant visage and uniformed appearance, "this way," with a sweeping gesture eager to assist. "A box?"

"Yes. Preferably upon the second tier," she asked, and noticed the concierge sighed which caused her brows to rise ever so slightly.

The concierge went to the little booth first to obtain some paper, a pencil, and a key, then gestured again, "our attendants are currently not in today but I can show you some of the boxes available. This way," said the concierge as he led the way up the grand staircase between to the two guardians at the first landing where the fashionable woman's eyes lifted to read 'AMPHITHEATRE' engraved in red marble or granite yet unable to catch the other two words. She continued on following the concierge the horseshoe hall and one by one the concierge showed the Heiress each available box.

...

"Preposterous!" cried out Richard. "I've never heard such a thing in my life!"

Both Managers were beside themselves as Armand Moncharmin sat down rubbing his face while Firmin Richard was about to blow his top by the indication of his reddening face. "Never heard such a- Did you ever!" He turned sharply, then immediately turned back to the man, "You are telling me that you, too, want your contract canceled based on a trivial situation?" Almost emphasizing on every word.

"I'll have you know, monsieur, drama most certainly does NOT stay on the stage!" replied the man. "And it was, by no means, a trivial situation!"

If ever there was a time that a certain Manager could have, and would have, strangled someone it was at that moment! It took the other Manager as well as the secretary, Monsieur Remy, and stage manager to restrain the infuriated Richard from assaulting the disgruntled Baritone. There was no doubt that, if not restrained by three men, Monsieur Richard would have placed the performer in the hospital had he not also recoiled in fright.

"Get out of this office!" boomed Richard as Moncharmin and Remy restrained the livid Manager.

In a scurry of fear and meager clumsy legs, the man grabbed his hat as he dashed out of the office narrowly missing a young man. "Good grief!" exclaimed the young, and well-polished, man as he swiftly stepped aside only to observe the other man disappearing in haste. "Turmoil abound, so it seems," he muttered to himself as he noticed the Secretary approach to shut the door, "I beg your pardon," as he jumped forward to stop the door from closing with both hand and foot.

Remy shook his head, "Monsieur, if you value your life, come back next week," he hissed the dire warning which took the young man by surprise. Before the young man could put forth another word, the door was slammed and loudly locked. The young man was left standing slightly shocked blinking several times until he paced for a minute then decided to depart in frustrated sigh.

As he strode away, the young man nearly collides with the Heiress. "Oh, do forgive me, Mademoiselle!" slightly presenting himself as surprised with hands raised and palms out while he took a step back, suddenly corrects his countenance with an apologetic bow. He locked his gaze upon the woman's face and her eyes.

"It's alright," she smiled and tried to be as pleasant as one could be after such a surprise. "Excuse us, please," and she circled around him only to have the young man follow her.

"If your intent is to speak with the Managers, I would recommend returning another day. For they rudely turned me away before I could say a word." He quickly interjected.

"Oh, dear," said the concierge as he covered his mouth then turned to the Heiress with a rather grave wide-eyed fearful expression and shook his head.

The Heiress turned and looked at the young man briefly then looked at the concierge a little dumbfounded wondering what authority the young man had to talk to her in such a way. Her countenance remained friendly as she collected herself. "Oh?" She paused and looked at the concierge, "Might I inquire why?" and looked at the young man.

"Foul mood, Mademoiselle," said the young man still standing on edge eager to win the woman's approval for some reason. It was his tense body language that made the woman rather leery for a moment only to turn to the unsettle concierge briefly. After a split second of expressions, the Heiress took off in regal haste towards the Managers office.

"Mademoiselle!" the young man called out after her as the concierge made a cross upon the chest then took off after the Heiress. A second later, the young man also gave chase, too. "You are either a brave woman to intrude upon an angry man or-"

"I'm that daft to interrupt an angry man, Monsieur," replied the Heiress when she gave the man no other option other than blind bravery. Once she came to the door and noticed the other two had caught up to her, the Heiress gently knocked upon the Manager's office door.

"I said, come ba-" the Secretary opened the door swiftly and stopped rather suddenly, even though the remainder of 'back' was drawn out in more a hesitant sound of foolishness that barely made sense. His dramatic surprise was proof he did not expect a lovely fashionable woman to be standing there. "Oh, forgive me, Mademoiselle."

A lovely smile appeared as she stood with regal grace, "If I may, Monsieur, I wish to meet with the Managers?"

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle, but," he paused and slightly fingered back his hair, "I would suggest returning another time. Perhaps… another day?"

"Oh?" She glanced beyond the door. "Are they not in?"

"They are. They are. But," he trailed off and glanced back behind him.

"Tell them an Heiress wishes to speak with them about patronage and financial backing for productions."

The man stood there pondering, "a moment," as he shut the door. It was noticeable from the bottom of the door that the secretary had rushed away and from the sounds of it beyond the door, it was an intense brief discussion.

Once again footsteps and shadows herald the secretary's return. As he opened the door, he froze about to speak but was shocked only to see a card offered to him from a fashionable gloved feminine hand. "If they so wish, I can call upon them another day."

The Secretary nodded, "a practical and wise idea, Mademoiselle," he grinned nervously, glanced back and winced. Again he faced the trio and glared momentarily at the concierge before settling is sights upon the fashionable woman and the return of a nervous grin. "Yes, a wise idea, Mademoiselle."

"Tomorrow?" She asked when her brows slightly rose, "Or will that too early?"

The man was slightly shocked but held his tongue. "Not too early at all-"

"REMY!" boomed an irritated voice from within the office, and the Secretary winced. "Good day, Madame," and quickly shut the door followed immediately by footsteps rushing away from the door.

The woman, the concierge, and the young man stood there rather stunned momentarily until the concierge jumped when the young man spoke, "Well, that was productive." The Heiress turned around slowly and glared at the young man. "Indeed," then she walked away from the concierge and the young man with a solemn grace while deep in thought.

A brief glance at one another and the concierge follow the woman, "can I be of further assistance, Mademoiselle?"

"No. Thank you, though, for your assistance. When was the next performance?" She glanced back at the concierge then stopped while awaiting an answer.

The poor concierge almost stuttered, "next Tuesday evening, Mademoiselle. We have to delay performances a week… for… obvious... circumstances." The concierge tried smile but failed miserably.

"Yes. I heard. A tragedy indeed," she glanced at the young man who sauntered up and began to follow her around like a lost puppy now. She looked him up and down with strict curiosity.

"You! You are that American Heiress, are you not?" Ask the young man as he came to a realization.

She stood still staring at the concierge who looked completely baffled. After a moment, she turned her head to the young man, then turned her body fully facing him. "Why do you ask?" She paused, "You ask as if you've never seen a wealthy person in your life, young man."

"Not an American, Mademoiselle," the young man smiled sounding fairly excited. "I saw you at Longchamps eyeing a particular black colt."

The Heiress turned to the concierge and nodded, "Thank you for your assistance. I shall attend the performance new Tuesday evening."

"Box Four, second tier?" the concierge asked as he fumbled swiftly for his pencil and paper.

"Yes, Box Four, second tier," the woman confirmed.

"Very good!" replied the concierge as he made a notation, "good day, Mademoiselle," then nodded to the young man, "Monsieur," and strode away in haste to return to this post.

"Yes. I was," she finally turned to the young man with an stern but amused visage. "You are a very curious young man," and glanced around, "now, if you will excuse me, I have further matters to attend to," she barely nodded with a fleeting gesture as she firmly took up her parasol and gracefully strode away from the young man.

"Perhaps I shall see you at Longchamps?" He called after her while trying to catch up to the Heiress.

"Perhaps," was the distant reply as the fashionable feminine figure departed through the Emperor's Entrance and got into the polished black brougham.


End file.
